


stay

by cautiouslyoptimistic



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27397570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cautiouslyoptimistic/pseuds/cautiouslyoptimistic
Summary: jamie notices it firstor, dani has a chronic illness
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie
Comments: 19
Kudos: 267





	stay

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: if you follow me on tumblr I gave a great many hints I wanted someone to write a fic like this but no one else wanted it/didn't even seem interested in it so I had to take one for my team of one. also note: I'm not a doctor so I made up an illness I dunno what's science

Jamie notices it first. 

(At first, it’s surprising to Dani, that Jamie is paying just as much attention to her as she is to Jamie. It makes her cheeks flush with warmth, leaves her unable to look away from Jamie’s soft eyes, has her  _ aching _ to reach out and take Jamie’s hand and—

Dani breathes in, shoving those thoughts aside.)

Flora’s raced off into the garden, Miles chasing after her, and Dani leans against the entrance to Bly Manor, hands on hips, trying to manage her breathing. Her heart is pounding away in her chest, her head spinning, vision spotty. For a moment, she’s worried she’ll collapse—she’s been so careful for so long and she hasn’t felt quite this bad since well….

She’s not sure. She doesn’t think it’s ever been this bad.

Just as she straightens, feeling a bit more certain on her wobbly legs, she feels a hand on her shoulder, a gentle tug pulling on the back of her sweater.

“I’ve nothing to do right now,” Jamie tells her, grinning at her as she releases Dani’s shoulder and steps up next to her. “Why don’t I watch the goblins for a bit?” 

“You really shouldn’t call them that,” Dani protests, but it’s weak and she doesn’t actually care, knowing that Jamie doesn’t mean it and much more interested in the way Jamie’s fingers brush against the back of her hand as she releases her sweater and walks backwards just past her. “And only Miles is  _ really _ the goblin. Flora’s an angel.” 

Jamie’s eyes rove over her face, clearly looking for something, and she ignores Dani’s comment. “Why don’t you take a break? Owen and Hannah are having tea—the real kind, not whatever it is you make. You should join them.”

“Oh, I don’t know—”

“—c’mon, Poppins. Everyone can use a break.” 

Dani swallows, pretending she doesn’t hear the knowing undercurrent in Jamie’s assertion, and she nods, tearing her eyes away from Jamie’s and focusing on her shoes. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. You’re right. I’ll go...get some tea.” 

Jamie waits, clearly intending to watch Dani turn and go back inside, one eyebrow raised, as if daring Dani to do what she  _ wants _ to do—sneak past Jamie and get to the kids. “The tea will be getting cold then, and despite what  _ you _ think it’s not  _ supposed _ to be cold,” Jamie prods, gesturing with her chin towards the Manor, and Dani caves.

“I’m going, I’m going,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. She doesn’t need Jamie’s huff of laughter to know that she’s still being watched as she turns back around and heads towards the kitchen (though all she really wants is to go up to her room, to sink into her bed, to drift off into an undisturbed slumber), accepting that she has no choice but to take a break.

(And when she sits down with Owen and Hannah, they’re all smiles, not questioning why Jamie took over for her, Owen pulling out the cookies—or were they called biscuits?—Dani likes that he makes sure to keep on hand for ‘special occasions,’ Hannah telling her about her latest foray into town, and Dani wonders if Jamie was the first to notice after all.

She wonders if maybe Jamie was just the first to call her out on it.)

x

“Miss Clayton?” Flora begins, dropping her doll and turning to look at Dani with an oddly mature expression of worry. “Are you all right?”

Dani stops picking up Flora’s clothes and frowns, confused at the question. “Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?”

Flora doesn’t seem to want to say. She gets to her feet, abandoning her massive dollhouse, and slides into bed without prompting, pulling her covers up to her chin. “Do you promise not to tell anyone I told you?” she asks, waiting for Dani to nod and sit down on the edge of the bed before she continues. “Miles and I played hide and seek the other day, and I hid in the stairwell near the kitchen. Mrs. Grose spoke to Jamie about you. They said they were worried about how you’re doing.” 

(Dani is conflicted. On one hand, she appreciates the obvious concern everyone in this house has for her, the affection that leads them to notice she needs a break or to worry about how she’s doing. But a less charitable part of her is annoyed. 

She’s not some weak damsel in need of saving, and she doesn’t appreciate the others talking behind her back and treating her as if she is.)

“You don’t need to worry about what they said,” Dani tells her, reaching out to smooth back her hair. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sick?” Flora asks, her concern not dissipating. 

“No, Flora, I’m not sick.” 

Flora doesn’t seem very convinced, but she nods into her blankets and shifts to her side. When Dani is halfway across the room, ready for bed herself, Flora speaks up once more. “Is it something that gets better?” she asks, sounding far older and wiser than a child had any right to. Dani turns around and gives Flora her best smile.

“Good night, sweet girl,” she says, and she thinks that her non-answer is answer enough.

x

She didn’t know about it until after Eddie. After what happened to him.

(She’d see his face, his illuminated glasses, and she’d think—for a heart-stopping moment—that her fiancé was haunting her. But then, as she regained control over her lungs, she’d notice it was a trick of the light, a glare off a window. 

Eventually, she’d see a doctor. Eventually, he’d tell her there was something  _ very _ wrong.

Eventually, she’d packed up and just...left, tired of all the looks from everyone back at home, at the whispers of ‘ _ isn’t it just tragic? _ ’ and ‘ _ first him, now her _ .’)

Sometimes, she doesn’t think anything is wrong at all.

Sure, she’s more tired than usual. And sure, sometimes she wakes up in the dead of night, clutching at her chest, trying to ignore her heart’s abnormal stuttering, wincing at the ache in her head. But usually, usually her heart beats slow and steady, usually her breathing is even and measured, usually her head is filled with nothing but the day’s plans for the children and how the shirt Jamie is wearing suits her.

Each reminder that something is wrong, each time she’s forced to confront the truth that her own body is failing her, betraying her, it feels like the first time—sitting in that doctor’s office, listening to him talk but not really hearing, the words washing over her as her heart began an irregular beat with which she’d soon become quite familiar.

Dani has always been very good at hiding things. She hid how she only felt friendship for Eddie for  _ years _ , only breaking at the prospect of life in a loveless marriage. And now, she hides  _ this _ , the headaches, the seeing things, the exhaustion, the stuttering heart soldiering on despite every agonizing beat. 

She hides, but Jamie’s watchful, tender eyes are on her, ready to rush forward at a moment’s notice; Hannah’s soothing presence is always just within reach; Owen’s thoughtful care has him anticipating her needs before she knows what they even are. 

(She’s not used to  _ this _ . People who see her, who love her, who  _ stay  _ even when things get hard.

And it breaks her heart that once they learn the truth—when they discover that her faltering heart is sending defective blood to her every extremity, that her rattling lungs struggle to fill with air, that each step is a step closer to the point of no return—they will want nothing to do with her.

More than that, she wouldn’t want them to.)

x

One afternoon, as Jamie, Hannah, and Owen watch Dani force the kids to work in the garden, looking terribly amused by the turn of events, she finds herself thinking that it’s unfair she only got to meet Jamie now.

Jamie is like...a breath of fresh air. Or, perhaps more accurately, that first inhale after being submerged underwater for a touch too long. It’s as if her chest was bursting from the pressure and then—

—then came Jamie, then came release. 

(She looks like second chances and Dani would swear she tastes like possibility and there’s a part of her that’s desperate to find out.

Desperate to know if her touch would feel like home.)

But Dani doesn’t know how to put those feelings—feelings she’s never had for anyone else—into words. So she settles for long stares, for wistful looks, for furtive glances—hoping against hope Jamie hasn’t noticed how many times Dani looks her way throughout the day. 

(She rather wishes it hadn’t happened at all, instead of happening now. Meeting Jamie, getting drawn into those eyes, gravitating to her presence. 

Because now...well, now it’s all moot. Now it doesn’t matter. She’s marked, she’s damaged, she’s broken.

She has timer ticking down to an uncertain but looming date, and she can’t afford to allow anyone to be in the vicinity when that last second arrives, doesn’t want anyone to be hit by her leftover shrapnel in the resulting explosion.

But Jamie looks at her like she’d brave it anyway, and sometimes Dani  _ wants so much  _ to cave.)

“I think you missed a section,” Jamie says from where she sits, gesturing to an untouched plot of the garden, giving Miles a grin. She doesn’t even try to hide her enjoyment when he looks to Dani for help and doesn’t get it, when he crawls over to where Jamie pointed out and begins to tug on weeds. “Y’know, Poppins,” Jamie says conversationally when Dani gets up to go sit next to her, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming, “this wasn’t a half bad idea. There are plenty of plants that need watering too, spare me waking up before sunrise every morning.” 

Dani looks at her, wanting so much—so  _ much _ —to cave (to reach out, to touch, to—). But she just smiles and shakes her head, forces herself to focus. “I think they learned their lesson.”

Jamie shrugs, turns her attention back to Hannah and Owen, and it feels like Dani’s been submerged again.

x

She has a really good week—no aches, no pains, no exhaustion, her lungs expanding without any effort on her part.

One week, and it’s like maybe she’s fine. Maybe it had all been in her head. 

(A week to hope, a week to think about everything she’d stopped allowing herself to think about—like hopes and plans and endless tomorrows.

A week to feel  _ normal _ , to feel excited, to look forward to what the future would bring. 

She got  _ one _ week.)

One week, and then she collapses on the stairs as she’s chasing after the kids.

(Flora screams, at least she thinks so. She hears  _ something _ , but her vision is spotty and her head feels full of cotton, and she’s unsure for a moment where she is. A part of her expects to open her eyes and see Eddie standing over her, his expression hard and set.)

The next thing she knows, she’s being looked over by the sole doctor in town as she lays on the couch in the sitting room, everyone (Hannah, Owen, Flora, Miles, and  _ Jamie _ ) gathered around her, a fire roaring in the fireplace. 

The doctor pockets his stethoscope and gives her a sad smile when he notices she’s awake. “I told you when you first came to me, Miss Clayton,” he begins softly, everyone listening in with rapt attention, “your health—”

“—I know, I know,” Dani interrupts, and he seems to take the hint, pulling back and nodding slowly. (When she got this job, she’d sought the kind doctor out, telling him about her diagnosis, telling him about exactly what she’d need from him. And she remembers the way he had looked at her, the way he hadn’t questioned her, just looking over all the records she’d brought with her and nodding slowly in silent acceptance.)

“Rest, won’t you?” he says, patting her shoulder before taking his leave, Owen and Hannah following him, as if intent on getting him alone to get some answers. But Dani only has eyes for the kids and for Jamie, the three of whom are looking at her worriedly, Flora going as far as coming around to take Dani’s hand.

“I’ve an idea,” Jamie says before Dani can think of an explanation, an excuse, some way to make her collapsing less serious than she knows it is. “Why don’t we all hang out with Miss Clayton a bit?” she asks, looking at Flora, then Miles. “Keep her company?”

“Like a slumber party?” Miles asks, a smile appearing on his face.

“Oh, that would be perfectly splendid!” says Flora, releasing Dani’s hand in order to clap. “Can we, Miss Clayton? I’ll stay up  _ all _ night!” 

Dani shifts on the couch, noticing Owen and Hannah making their way back and then catching Jamie’s eye, and she decides that caving a little—just a touch—couldn’t possibly hurt. “That sounds like a good idea,” she finds herself saying.

“Excellent,” Owen laughs, making a face at Flora that has her giggling. “How about some hot chocolate for the kids, and some adult hot chocolate for the rest of us?” 

“Can I have adult hot chocolate?” Miles asks, looking to Dani and Hannah for permission, shoulders slumping when he gets two unequivocal no’s. 

(And much, much later, long after Jamie helps Dani carry the kids to their beds, long after she finds Jamie sleeping on the couch in the morning, long after Owen and Hannah disappeared to who knows where, Dani finds herself caving once more.

She finds herself reaching out and squeezing Jamie’s hand, holding on for just a touch too long, finds herself memorizing the look on Jamie’s face in response, finds herself smiling at Jamie’s quiet  _ who the hell knew? _ , and finds herself thinking that yes, Jamie  _ does _ feel like home.

And she finds herself wanting it even more.)

x

She confesses nearly everything to Jamie in her greenhouse, surrounded by the plants Jamie loves so much, feeling remarkably safe in the dark and pressed up against Jamie’s warmth.

(Later, she thinks it was the influence of the alcohol, the fact that Owen’s mother just passed, the fact that she hadn’t slept well in what felt like decades.

But the truth—something she thinks she’s only able to admit to herself in the dead of night, when exhaustion has seeped in, leaving her vulnerable to honesty—is that she’s been  _ desperate _ to tell Jamie. She’s wanted to, needed to, felt absolutely  _ driven _ to, from the first moment she laid eyes on the gardener and knew—somewhere deep in her stuttering heart—that she’s something special.)

“You must think I’m crazy,” she mumbles after she’s finished, unsure which part she’s referring to. The fact that she’d thought she could see Eddie after he died? That she ran to the other side of the world to get away from pitying eyes? That she took a job in the middle of nowhere, with children who’d dealt with more than their fair share of grief, because it offered an escape she was too weak to resist? 

Jamie’s eyes don’t stray from Dani’s. “No, you’re actually surprisingly sane, considering,” she says lightly, surprising a laugh out of Dani. “So is that your big, dark secret, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re a bit of a weirdo, Poppins. And I would’ve thought it’s because your ex-fiancé is haunting you, not something normal like this.”

Dani’s heart stutters, but not in the way she’s used to. It’s a swooping feeling, like your breath has been knocked out of you by a surprise, not because your lungs can’t fill with air. “Normal?” she repeats, knowing— _ knowing _ —she’s looking too intensely at Jamie, but not able to stop.

“Well, yeah,” Jamie says, shrugging a little awkwardly. “Something in your body is shit at its job. People are shit at their jobs all the time. It’s—”

And Dani caves. 

She cuts Jamie off with a kiss, does the one thing she’s wanted to do since she first met the gardener, pulls her closer by the collar of her jacket, fingers snaking into Jamie’s hair, and—

—and her head swims, dizziness sets in, and she knows if her eyes had been open, her vision would be spotty. 

Dani pulls back with a start, at the stark reminder of the ‘shit’ job her body is doing, and her heart resumes its irregular, erratic beat. 

“It’s okay, Dani,” Jamie tells her repeatedly, “we’re good.” 

But even as Jamie smiles at her reassuringly, Dani can’t help but feel she’s let  _ home _ slip between her fingers.

x

She caves again (and again). 

She caves and goes to Jamie (replaying the words ‘ _ Poppins, you flirt _ ’ over and over again in her head), caves when Jamie shows her the moonflower, caves that night as Jamie is fast asleep and Dani is wide awake, tracing her fingers lightly over the scar on Jamie’s back. She caves when she asks Jamie to come back and Jamie tells her there will be other nights and she can do nothing but ask ‘ _ promise _ ?’ and try not sway on her feet as she feels a rush of warmth when Jamie answers back with a nod and ‘ _ promise _ .’ 

She caves again and again (and again).

And somewhere in between all that, she stops noticing her heart’s erratic beat, stops associating breathlessness with anything other than Jamie’s kisses, stops focusing on the pain that Jamie’s touch somehow manages to dull. 

Dani caves and somewhere along the way she thinks,  _ maybe _ . She thinks  _ yes, I can have this too _ . She thinks  _ it’s okay to do this _ .

She caves, forgetting what’s lurking in her own heart and lungs and veins, forgetting she’s making a mistake.

x 

Hannah is lighting candles again when Dani goes looking for her, wanting to ask her to watch the kids later in the week. She doesn’t look up when Dani sits at the second pew, but she does let out a soft sigh as she finishes lighting the last candle and then moves to come over and sit next to Dani.

There’s silence for a moment, Dani wanting to be respectful, but then Hannah turns to her, looking a little curious. “It’s none of my business, but I just wanted to say, Jamie’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her. I’d wager that’s got a lot to do with you.” She doesn’t sound anything but pleased, so Dani meets her eyes, feeling a little flushed. 

“She makes me happy, too,” she says, ducking her head. “But I just…” She trails off, not quite sure how to word her thoughts, how to admit that in the depths of her heart she’s got no doubt she’s known Jamie her whole life, that she’s  _ meant  _ to have found Jamie, to be with her. She doesn’t know how to say that she’s terrified out of her mind because even if Jamie is happy now, the only thing Dani can promise her is a great deal of pain. 

(She is intimately familiar with how loss can hollow you out, how it can leave you feeling helpless and hopeless in the face of a vast, cold universe.

She doesn’t know how to condemn someone she’s pretty sure she’s falling for to that sort of pain. She doesn’t  _ want  _ to.)

Hannah reaches out and pats her hand gently, then leans back against the pew. 

“Love is funny,” she begins, seemingly reading Dani’s mind. “It’s sweet and freeing, but just as much as you don’t have a choice in who you fall in love with, I don’t think you can choose what someone is willing to endure for you.” 

“But it’s not fair, it wouldn’t be fair,” Dani protests, drawing Hannah’s eyes. 

“Well, whoever said love was fair?” she asks with a laugh. “All any of us can do, really, is love with our whole heart with whatever time we have. That has to be enough.” 

x

The second time her health takes a turn for the worse, it’s not as dramatic as collapsing on the stairs. Instead, she just can’t get out of bed.

It’s painfully embarrassing, the way Hannah brings her breakfast, helps her sit up in bed, even steadies her shaking hand as she tries to sip her tea. It’s somehow worse when Owen drops by with lunch later, telling her he’d ‘gone full American’ and made some of her favorites. 

But when Jamie arrives, not covered in dirt for once, Dani feels a bit of panic set in at the very thought of what she has to do—how she has to convince this woman to move on, find someone who isn’t tainted like she is.

(This is what Dani knows without a doubt: Jamie is the ‘spend forever with you’ sort of person for her, the only one who has ever made her feel safe in the storm, heard in the silence, seen in the dark. 

This is what Dani knows without a single doubt: Jamie already expects everyone she meets to in someway disappoint her, and it would break Dani’s heart if she was one of those people too.)

So she decides on telling the truth.

“I’m sick you know,” Dani says just as Jamie sits down at the edge of the bed, hand resting remarkably close to Dani’s. 

She raises an eyebrow. “I gathered that much, yeah.” 

“No, Jamie. I’m  _ sick _ ,” Dani tries, the words getting stuck to the roof of her mouth, suddenly unwilling to say more. “I won’t get better, I’ll never get better. It’ll just get worse and then—” She cuts herself off, blinking rapidly, trying to prevent the onset of tears. 

Jamie doesn’t say anything for a beat, just stares, before she pulls her hand back. It’s just an inch, barely even that, but it feels like miles, and Dani wishes she could take it all back. “Oh,” Jamie says eventually, her previous wry amusement fading entirely to be replaced by a soft frown. 

“It’s just,” Dani starts, “you don’t get it. I have this feeling, you know? Like I’m walking through this dense, overgrown jungle and I can’t see anything. Nothing but for the path immediately ahead of me. But I know there’s this  _ thing _ hidden, this  _ angry,  _ empty, lonely beast. And one day, who knows when, that’ll be it. I’ll be devoured.” Her tears finally escape, rolling down her cheek and onto her covers. She thinks Jamie follows the path with her eyes, but she’s not sure, can’t tell when her vision is blurred by tears. After a second, she more feels than sees Jamie shift on the bed.

“Do you want some company?” Jamie asks, and when Dani blinks her vision clear, she can see that Jamie’s holding up her hand, pinky sticking out. 

“What?”

“While you’re in that jungle, waiting for the beast, do you want some company?” 

(She thinks about what Hannah said, about not being able to choose what someone is willing to endure for you. She thinks about how Jamie has offered this in light of the entire, complete truth.

She thinks about how Jamie is still here, still wanting to be present, even as Dani confesses the thing she’s run from since Eddie died.)

Dani hooks their pinkies together, nodding, and she’s pretty sure—if miracles or magic or the fantastic truly existed—her body would have repaired its damaged cells when Jamie presses a kiss to Dani’s hand. 

And yet, she finds Jamie's presence—her warmth, her smile, her  _ choice _ —to be miracle enough.

x

They decide to leave Bly. 

(Flora hugs her tightly, makes her promise she’ll visit soon; Hannah and Owen tell her to take care of herself, that they’ll keep in touch; and as Jamie helps Dani put the last of their things in her truck, as she pulls away from the Manor, Dani looks back once, idly wondering if she’ll ever be able to make her way back here.)

At first, they choose to just travel. They make a list of things they always wanted to see, then systematically go through it, hopping from place to place with no real intent—no real idea of what tomorrow will hold. 

But then one day, Jamie starts to  _ plan _ . 

She hands a cup of tea over to Dani, raising her eyebrows as if to say  _ this is how it’s done _ , then tugs out the journal where they’ve listed all their travel destinations. “I think we can skip over seeing the south, I’m not too keen on going anyway, but I hear the fall here,” she points at one of the places Dani has listed, “is quite nice. So we could start heading that way.”

“Fall is months away,” Dani says, setting her tea aside. 

Jamie doesn’t notice, just sips at her own tea and hums. “That’s how the seasons work, yeah,” she says absentmindedly, clearly trying to map out their next few months in her head. She seems to finally register Dani’s stiffness and her tone, because she looks up after a beat, giving Dani the softest of smiles. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours,” she says, holding out a hand. “The beast’s not come yet and I want to stay, here with you. All you have to do is let me.”

( _ Stay _ .

On Jamie’s lips it sounds like more, like a confession neither of them have been brave enough to utter yet. And Dani’s heart stutters at the thought, but not because it’s struggling to beat, not because it’s working too hard.

No, her heart stutters because she’s  _ excited _ . 

For so long, she never thought past today. But now, with Jamie, she’s looking forward to countless tomorrows.)

Jamie looks at her, chooses her,  _ stays _ with her, and once again (because it’s Jamie, because she’s starting to think maybe she’s not so broken after all) Dani caves and takes Jamie’s hand.

“Actually,” she says with a small smile, her eyes on the future, “what do you think about starting a business together? Maybe a flower shop?” 

Jamie smiles brilliantly, taking the idea and running with it, flipping to a new page in the journal and jotting down ideas as she speaks, and all Dani can do is soak it all in. And she thinks, when they finally go visit Owen and Hannah in Paris, she’ll tell Hannah that loving someone with your whole heart with whatever time you’ve got is more than just enough—it’s everything.

**Author's Note:**

> advancements in medicine eventually cure dani (what is science??) and she and jamie live a super long happy life together. the end. I'm on tumblr @c-optimistic


End file.
